


Sir

by Forgotten_Logic



Series: Random Short Stories [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (σ ͡■ω ͡■)σ, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Donuts, Feedee!Prowl, Feeder!Optimus, Feeder/Feedee dynamics, Hand Feeding, Other, Prowl Failed, Snacks & Snack Food, Stuffing, Vague AU, Weight Gain, belly stuffing, human food for robots, shameless fat robots, why did I write this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:20:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8687470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forgotten_Logic/pseuds/Forgotten_Logic
Summary: ** WARNINGS: Chubby chubby chubby... stuffing... hand feeding. Too many fucking donuts. *** I blame tumblr and Reddle because I saw a beautiful thing sent in by an anon and it made me just ooz and melt into a puddle... *
  Now with a chapter 2! June 28, 2018!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked:
> 
> As punishment, Prowl sits at his deck and has his commanding officer stuff him. Plump jelly filled and pretend, his officer brings a dozen bakers dozen boxes of them. Prowl gets stuck in the chair and can't get up and ultimately his officer takes advantage to get more donuts and continues until the chair breaks and a jiggly Prowl is stuck on the floor like a fat turtle. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧✿ 
> 
> reddle answered:
> 
> ooooooooooohh dear……*sweats*
> 
> (I am having a bad time when it comes to finding links but I did find what it said! :3)

"Sir, I can explain," Prowl said quietly but you would never know he failed by the tone he carried. "It's unacceptable," his officer snapped. "You failed to obtain the material, and you failed to not be seen." The powerful blue optics bored deep into in. If Prowl was anyone else, he'd flinch. 

"You put all of us in danger for your arrogance, you will be punished," he stated, leaning into Prowl. "What do you propose is a suitable punishment for a mech that can't take orders?" His officer's optics burned into him, making him start to feel small. Prowl's head was spinning, what could he say? He was a tactician, he should have known better.

His officer, still leaning over the desk, Prowl's arms anxiously rested on the arms of the chair. "Perhaps..." his voice trailed off, what good a punishment could he give himself that would reflect on his failure? His officer narrowed his piercing blue optics. " _Perhaps_ is not good enough." Prowl did flinch, his optics travelled across his officers frame, he saw no weakness.

"I know how to punish you." He leaned in again, much closer than before. Prowl felt himself shrink down, what is his idea on punishment? He couldn't speak, but he wasn't going to be able to talk soon enough. "Open your mouth, soldier," the low tones voice coursed through his systems, a devilishly lone voice. Prowl hesitated but did as he was ordered.

One thing he did not expect was that when he opened, something would be shoved in. What else should he have expected? That's what you do with an open mouth. His glossa danced over the object, upon only a moment he knew exactly what it was.

A fist sized jelly filled donut. Oh no.

"Chew and swallow," his officers tone had increasing lowered, sending a shiver down Prowl's spine. Prowl did what was asked of him, no, ordered of him. How could he refuse? It would only seem like another failure. 

Another was shoved in, Prowl chewed however this time tried to savor the flavors. Sweet, sticky strawberry jelly that coated his mouth that had a simple glaze. It tasted so sweet, almost too sweet for the tactician but he had no say in it, so he swallowed.

"Again," the same low voice went, through a whisper, it sent another shiver down Prowl's spine. More than one was pushed in, maybe three, it made some of the jelly slosh out and ooz onto his face. An amused purr seemed to emanate from his officer. Prowl was not sure wether it was a bad thing or a good thing. "You've made a mess soldier." His own vent sputtered. "Clean it up."

He hesitated to move, his arms slowly rose to - "No hands!" He bellowed, making Prowl wince. He went about using his glossa instead, attempting to lap at the messy goo that had dribbles down from his mouth. His glossa could only reach so far, only making it a little passed his chin. "Good." His officer came down onto Prowl, taking Prowl's jaw with his hand. "You'll do just fine if continue being a good, obedient soldier," he cooed, "but, you must finish your punishment." His optics turned to daggers, silently pointing to the boxes of donuts.

BOXES?!

Prowl felt like his tanks were twisting but he couldn't do a thing about it because another thick jelly filled was pushed into his mouth. Sadly enough for him, they did taste good, but the sugar was for sure going to make him fat. Even with that in mind, he swallowed.

"Uh," not a usual sound for the tactician to make. "H-how many do I have to-" he didn't get to finish. His officer shoved another one, no, two this time into his mouth. "No words. You will finish them all, that is your punishment," he growled. Prowl felt trepidation build in his tanks. Could his tank even hold all of that? All of those jelly filled? He did not want to find out, but he was only six or seven donuts in, after the second dozen he would probably show.

This wouldn't be the first time he'd been stuffed, however this was a first to be stuffed by another mecha. Prowl was usually alone and doing paper work and field reports, no one would notice that he didn't leave his office because he almost never did on a normal day. Though usually he would only have maybe two boxes of donuts, they were usually smaller, too, but could he come back from this punishment?

For the next moments felt like time stood still, for his officer anyway, he was enjoying watching Prowl huff and try to swallow with vigor. And just now, Prowl had managed three boxes and he was showing. The metal that covered his middle bulged, and some protoform pushed through the seams. Prowl groaned as another was pushed into his mouth, it was starting to become more of a chore. Could his tanks handle more? There were still more boxes that were now placed on his desk and he feared he would have to eat them all... oh Primus.

"S-sir!" He whimpered out, still trying to chew. "Quiet, you are to finish and accept your punishment," his officer growled in husky voice. Prowl's hands went to his near painfully stuffed belly, he swallowed. "Sir, I don't think it'll fit!" 

"You've only halfway filled your first tank, you've a way to go yet." He saw the distress on Prowl's face. "Remove your armor," he ordered. Prowl did not hesitate, his fingers plucked at the seams and popped of the armor on his front, and plopped it on the floor. The pressure that was built up dissipated, though leaving indentations on his belly from how snug the armor was. 

His officer continued stuffing him, guiding food to his mouth, not before too long Prowl managed six more boxes. Prowl was starting to slow down, and considerably so. At first when it only took a few seconds to down the donuts now took closer to a minute for only one. 

And let's not forget, his frame has gotten wider since his 'punishment'. Prowl was right now attempting to concentrate on chewing and swallowing. He hoped the sooner he had finished all the boxes, he'd be able to just lean back and sulk and be disgusted with himself in his office. 

Some more time passed, the eleventh box was a difficult one for him. The last two boxes had been deposited in his secondary fuel reservoir and he felt heavy. His hands rubbed up and down on the sore belly, hoping that could ease the ache and maybe help him release some pressure. A gaseous pressure. Not matter what he did however, made either any better. 

"You've done well thus far, perhaps if you continue and finish up, I may ease up on you," he whispered, blue piercing optics traveling over Prowl's body. He seemed particularly fond of the belly that plopped and jiggled as Prowl tried to ease more food down his gullet. Prowl couldn't respond, he was hurting. His belly ached and he was having a harder time breathing-

-but his officer kept going, "Only one more box," he said quietly, placing a hand on the firm belly. Prowl flinched the touch felt nice -- gentle, though it was that hand that put all those sugar filled hellions into his mouth. "You can manage it, Prowl, I know you can," he whispered sweetly, sending a shiver down Prowl's spine. Were his tanks going to really be able to hold anymore? His entire frame filled out, legs, hips, and let's never forget that belly... it hung heavily over his lap and spilled over his hips, touching he arms of the chair. 

Prowl had closed his optics, just allowing himself to be packed full. Each time he swallowed, his belly bounced and he could feel it every time her breathed. He opened his optics and whimpered upon seeing one left. He rubbed fervently at his double stuffed belly, groaning painfully at the pressure that had settled right on his lap. Right over his equipment.

"Finish this and its over," he coached in a sweet, huskied voice. "You'll do it for me, won't you Prowl?" There was a quiet kind of smirk to his voice, Prowl wasn't sure - again - wether or not that was a good thing or not. Even his jaw had tired, but he opened it anyway, welcoming the last piece into his mouth as a final push. His glossa was sore from all the sugar and jelly that coated it. The sugar made it feel as though he was eating sweet sand paper. 

He winced when he pushed the last piece down his intake, grateful that he was done. "You can be a good soldier, take orders," his officer cooed. "Perhaps you should get in trouble more often with me." His optics traced over Prowl, taking in the newest details of his form. He stopped again at the white belly, but not before looking at those now nice, plump, and voluptuous thighs. 

"S-sir, permission to go to personal quarters?" Prowl asked with a shaky voice, he wasn't even sure if he could walk! He'd be leaning the wall for all of his stability. "Granted, soldier." With that, Prowl tried to push himself up only to find that his hips are a little wide for the seat, an embarrassing heat pulses through his features. "I may need some assistance, sir." Prowl turned his optics away from view of his officer. 

He said nothing, only walked over and disconnected the arms of the chair, which released some more pressure that was drawn onto his hips. Oh, he had become extremely curvaceous. Optimus liked that. Prowl tried again, he managed to lift himself off but only then to slip back into the chair. Optimus let out his hand and reached down for the tactician, who hesitantly accepted. 

"I'll help you to your quarters," he stated out right, guiding Prowl to lean on him as they started to walk. "T-thank you, sir..." Prowl stuttered a whisper. He could barely walk and each step made him feel like his belly was going to jump out of him and onto the floor. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... Prowl did a thing and Optimus brings out a bigger gun (but also sort of figures out how to be a little nicer).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lolololol wow this is bad and gross and set me on fire  
> enjoy XD

“You will take it, endure it, and finish it all. No exceptions,” growled the Matrix bearer, low and dangerous. Prowl was once again in a position of punishment for his own pride, a curse that he would have to come to terms with. 

He kept his mouth shut, denta scraping against each other in a torrent of embarrassment. Pride got him here.

His commander loomed over him a brief second, watching as embarrassed terror flashed over the slate blue optics. “Since you've gotten yourself into this mess, how do you think you should be punished?” Deja vu of his previous encounter with his officer flashed over his HUD, but he'd learned since then. “I am not at liberty to decide my punishment, sir.” Optimus—although hidden behind his mask—smirked. A quick, low hum of his approval made even a practiced tactician quake. Prowl already knew his fate was sealed the moment that the door closed and lovely aromas filled the somber air. 

In the back of Prowl’s mind, he knew what was going to happen. The Prime’s optics became slits. “Good. Good, you know your place.” His officer stepped around, weaving around the desk, drawing his optics over armor that had yet to properly fold back since their last encounter, a reminder that sent a silent but delicious shiver down the truck’s spine. “I know what you _need_ ,” he started lowly, eliciting a shiver from the monochromatic car. 

Around the desk, the Prime went again, although now—since this was, of course, his office—he came prepared for what was about to ensue. He knelt down and unlatched the cabinet door that was beside his desk, and with the drawer open, its aroma bursts forth: strong and delicious. He knew what his future was going to be but he wanted to resist it all so bad. 

“You need to be reminded that if you can’t move, there should only be one reason.” Prowl gulped. “You should be too full to even think about anything,” his officer growled. Optimus hoisted up what was once hidden within the cabinet and what it was made both Prowl’s mouth salivate and tanks turn. 

“Sir?”

“Hush your yap!” Optimus snapped. “It’s never done you any good.” He plopped the mecha bird onto his desk, easily the size of the Prime’s chassis and easily double what Prowl even _hoped_ to consume. Crisp golden armor shined in the light, steam still wafting from the surface. “Now,” his officer began slowly. “Use that mouth for something useful. You may start with this bird.”

Prowl was left in a daze, although this was leaving him confused on hot, he did as ordered. The black and white mech hesitantly pulled the chair closer to the edge, slowly reaching for the bird. Optimus sat down behind his desk and Prowl felt his scrutinizing optics trace his frame, making his doorwings fold back in a quiet Praxian submission. When his black digits were mere inches away Optimus growled, “Get started.” To which, Prowl did. 

Heat transferred to his fingers as he dug into the golden armor, softer than he would have thought with how mecha birds usually were. He looked up a moment, watching his officer with a rare mixture of fear and curiosity: did his officer really like this? Oxford Blue™ optics were on him, nodding. “Go on.”

The black servo of the Praxian took the bit of meat from the bird and put it in his mouth, savoring the strong savory flavors. It practically fell apart in his maw, making him need to get more. The desire that shamefully had been lit from mere moments was quickly growing to a peaked flame. His digits returned to the bird, each time with a bit more vigor than the last, even if in the back of his helm he was worried how this will affect him. He still bore a belly from his last failure, squishy and malleable.

He went slowly, as slowly as Optimus would allow without glaring. His circuits were already fried and his battle computer somehow couldn’t keep to par with the situation. Black digits going again, deeper into the still warm flesh. His hands were full of meat, filling his mouth with divinely seasoned meat. 

Minutes later left in an almost silence, save for his gulping, half the bird was consumed, Prowl didn’t hold in his groan. Only the beginning of his punishment and he was already slowing down. It was a small knot but with that look in his commander’s optics, it focused him forward. _Maybe if I finish, he will go easy on me_. Even the tactician didn’t wholly believe that, though he wanted to. But with those optics burning into his armor, he kept moving. His chassis was getting tighter by the bite but if he stopped, he’d again be a failure. 

By the time the bird was almost gone, Prowl was a moaning mess. His faceplate was smeared with the bird’s juices, his bumper caught what his mouth didn’t… but his belly… how it hung far now, holding most of the bird. His venting was labored and the ache that had gradually sprouted with each bite grew into a pulse. 

Prowl had to stop to attempt to catch his breath. And rub his belly that stretches farther than his bumper. His embarrassment skyrocketed and Optimus was staring him down every waking second that he put off his punishment. With one servo on his belly, rubbing his side feebly to null the ache, the other dug into what was still left on the bird.

“Prowl,” his commander’s voice boomed despite how quietly it came. He got up slowly and stepped around his desk, seeing the terror in those optics as Prowl put in a mouthful to try and stave off any more trouble he may cause himself. Prowl chewed quickly. His optics darting from his commander to the bird—are those potatoes in the bottom? _Primus, he was going to be a joke…_

Before Prowl grabbed another handful, an obscenely gentle servo traced his tender belly. He didn’t mean to wince at the touch but he sensitive to being so full and he knew what those servos could do. He had _seen_ it… _felt it_.

“You feed, I rub.” Prowl had to shake his helm and come back to attention to what Optimus had actually said. He hesitantly left his belly unaided, reaching for what was left of the bird. Those servos of the Prime were _good and big_ , covering and moving across more area. Prowl keened something, a name almost legible on his lips. The flesh in his servos, though trembling, made their way to his maw.

Optimus, from his position on his knees, in front of the tactician, both hands rubbing the hard swell only looked up when Prowl made a pained noise. Prowl’s field was frazzled, _he_ was frazzled and Optimus was left to watch as he forced another handful in. Prowl’s chewing had slowed. His optics had glazed over. He even had started to hiccup. Optimus felt it underneath his splayed digits.

It would be a kindness to stop now, but would he? How he may be sure that Prowl had learned his lesson? Optimus wouldn’t know for sure, but he didn’t want his form of punishment to end up on the floor. “Stop.” Prowl froze like a pedorabbit with a gun’s barrel directed at him. He stopped moving at all. Except for the hiccups but he couldn’t help that bit.

“You’ve had enough for the evening. Come—” Optimus hoisted him up abruptly “—you may finish up later.”

“Thank you, sir!” was the only thing he was able to say whilst wobbling down through his commander’s office, with that set of servos on his hips. He held his gravid belly that was too heavy for his own good… but Optimus liked the view.


End file.
